


Home Renovation

by noodleinabarrel



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: DIY, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Growing Old, Home Improvement, M/M, Old Married Couple, Old Married Spirk Challenge, POV Spock, Protective Spock, buying a home, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodleinabarrel/pseuds/noodleinabarrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly before his first mission to Romulus, Spock buys a fixer-upper house with Jim. Although Jim is excited to begin renovating their new home, Spock worries it’s only a matter of time before his husband falls off a ladder and breaks his spine. Not to mention, the house’s derelict state is preventing Spock from enjoying his remaining time with Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Renovation

“Jim, no.”  
  
“It just needs some TLC, Spock.”  
  
“It is illogical to ascribe feelings toward a house, tender or otherwise.”  
  
Jim waved a hand, sweeping through the dust motes floating through the air, a movement that inadvertently directed the particles up his throat. “Just imagine it after a new paint job and a bit of,” he said in between coughing fits, “tweaking here and there."  
  
Spock slapped Jim on the back until his esophagus was clear. “This house is a surefire diamond in the rough,” he continued.  
  
“You have confused the diamond with the rough,” Spock replied, following Jim into the next room. Spock watched Jim’s hand brush along the wall, his fingers leaving a trail of paint chips in their wake. The floor boards gave an insecure creak, more like a crunch, Spock reconsidered, stepping over the problem area again. There was a soft pressure underfoot that hinted at structural damage.  
  
Jim snorted. “You’re getting distracted by what you see instead of imagining what could be.” Before Jim could raise his arms in another expression of profound thought thereby stirring more phickuntiatus into his lungs, Spock gripped his bondmate’s hand. The affectionate display was rewarded by a warm tug from Jim along their mental link.  
  
"Hey--look how big the master bedroom is." Nudging a suggestive elbow into Spock’s waist, Jim’s lips tilting upwards, a look that, practically on cue, sent a wave of heat down Spock's spine. A rush of wind blew through a large crack in the window to Spock's left. He shivered.  
  
“No, Jim.” Spock crossed his arms and tightened his stance.  
  
Placing an arm around Spock’s waist, Jim leaned sideways, his hip pressing into Spock’s. “Fixing this place up will keep me from moping while you’re away.”  
  
“Surely your work at the academy is more intellectually stimulating than a piece of unstable architecture,” Spock argued.  
  
Jim rubbed a circle against Spock’s back. “School’s out for the summer. I need a project. You know what I'm like when I get bored.”  
  
Spock frowned, a minimal twitch of his eyebrows southward. His objections ended with that subtle expression. It was futile—he could deny Jim nothing. A predicament he found himself more frequently giving in to as the years went by, and with a higher percentile since he began his ambassadorial work with Romulus. A job, he predicted, would take him from Jim’s physical presence during seventy three percent of the next year.  
  
“The price is inexpensive,” Spock conceded. The resulting grin this comment created on Jim’s lips eased Spock’s misgivings.  
  
The front door creaked and stuck as Jim shut it behind them with a hard shove. Spock's frown narrowed by three millimeters.  
  
"Just needs a little oil. I'll add it to the DIY list." Jim turned to Spock. “Think about it, okay?” And then he kissed Spock firmly on the mouth, brushing his fingers against his bondmate’s tightened fist. Spock's frown dissipated.  
  
The house was not the most attractive or structurally sound piece of architecture they had viewed over the past five months, but it made Jim happy. Perhaps it was not logical, but Jim’s contentment was the only reasoning Spock required.  
  
*  
  
Spock was beginning to regret purchasing this house. A useless emotion, easily preventable when sound logic was employed in decision making. He sighed as he stepped through the front door after a particularly trying day of endless debate at the Vulcan embassy to discover Jim leaning precariously on a ladder that looked as old as the building they had purchased three months ago. It was only a matter of time before Jim broke his back.  
  
“Jim,” Spock called up to his husband, his lower body poking out from the attic entrance. “This ladder is unsafe.” Although Jim’s placement at such a height was hazardous, causing a sense of freefall within Spock’s stomach despite his firm placement on the ground, Spock admitted the view was advantageous. If only Jim would climb less rickety ladders, Spock would be free to enjoy the sight of Jim’s attractively positioned posterior in peace.  
  
“Oh, hey, Spock!” Jim called back, his head appearing briefly from under the ceiling. “Have a good day? How did the talks go?”  
  
“They were tiresome and uneconomical,” Spock replied, the exhaustion in his tone surprising him.  
  
“Shervic still riding your ass, huh? Want me to beat him up for you?” Jim shifted on the ladder which wobbled under his weight. Spock grabbed the legs with a hiss of breath, his eyes widening.  
  
“Causing a brawl at the embassy is unlikely to prove helpful. Jim, please remove yourself from this ladder. You will fall and cause irreparable damage to your spine.”  
  
Jim’s chuckle echoed above, dulled by the ceiling in between them. “Don’t worry. I’ve been on and off this thing all day. Haven’t broken anything yet. See—” Jim moved each of his legs from side to side. Spock gripped the ladder more fiercely. “Still working.”  
  
“The fact that you have yet to harm yourself using hazardous tools does not negate the possibility of future injury,” Spock answered tonelessly.  
   
“You’re honestly worried about an eight foot fall—after all the hell we survived while in Starfleet? You need a little perspective, Mr. Spock.” The humor in his voice was audible despite the sudden grinding sound in the vicinity of Jim’s head.  
  
“I do not understand how perspective will change the statistical likelihood of you falling from a ladder that is likely suffering from wood rot.” Spock’s eyes remained on Jim’s lower half. “In fact, your current perspective increases the chance of greater injury should you fall.”  
  
“Well, you’re here now. If I fall, I’m sure you’ll catch me. Pass me the hammer, would you?” Jim’s left hand popped out from the ceiling and shook in Spock’s direction.  
  
Spock bent to retrieve the hammer tucked into Jim’s toolbox. Further movement could only increase Jim’s likelihood of landing flat on his back. “May I inquire about the purpose of your activities?”  
  
“There’s a loose board up here. Wouldn’t want one of us old codgers to trip and break his neck.” A thud from what Spock assumed, more precisely hoped, was the hammer being used for its proper function.  
  
“It is unlikely we will be spending much time in the attic,” Spock debated, raising his voice over the hammering. “I am positive there are more efficient ways you could be spending your time then on attic flooring.” Such as spending time with his bondmate before he departed for Romulus, Spock mused, with a note of unbecoming jealously. It was illogical to feel bitter toward a house, especially one he had joint ownership of.  
  
“Wait until you see the skylight up here, then you’ll change your mind.” More thumping, and a grunt from Jim. “It’ll be great for star gazing. Very romantic.”  
  
“It would not be romantic if you paralyzed yourself before my imminent—”  
  
“Stop fussing,” another thwack, “I’ll be done is a—augh!”  
  
Before Spock could form the sound of Jim’s name, his bondmate was falling and would hit the ground in one point two seconds. Spock stepped three centimeters to the right, and in the estimated time, Jim landed in Spock’s outstretched arms.  
  
Jim stared at him wild-eyed for precisely two seconds. “I swear to God, Spock. If you say I told you so or any Vulcan form of those words—”  
  
Spock pursed his lips.  
  
“Your nagging distracted me. I wacked my thumb.” Jim held up said thumb, now turning an angry red. “See?”  
  
Spock sighed.  
  
“My knight in Vulcan robes.” Jim grinned. Spock wanted to remain irritated, but it was difficult with Jim’s smile beaming three inches away.  
  
“I believe holding one’s mate in one’s arms is a sign of human romance.” Spock kissed Jim’s upheld thumb. “As well as kissing a loved one’s wounds better. Even if it is illogical as Vulcan saliva provides no healing qualities.” With Jim still firmly gripped in his arms, Spock began moving toward their bedroom. “Therefore, there should no longer be a need for you to enter the attic in order to make a habitable place of romance when enough can be found on the lower floor.”  
  
Jim was attempting to hold back laughter and failing, his lips straining in both directions. “I like to keep my options open. I’ll get a couch up there, some blankets, make it really cozy. You’ll never want to leave.”  
  
Spock pushed the bedroom door open with his hip. It was barely hanging on by its hinges. “I am quite happy where I am.” He kicked the door closed with a foot. The door snapped off its last workable hinge and crashed to the floor. Both human and Vulcan were too busy to notice.  
  
*  
  
Spock rolled onto his side, tucking his head against Jim’s neck and breathing deeply. Jim smelled of sweat—likely from a combination of his manual labor and their more recent leisurely activities—and wood dust. A molecule of which drifted up Spock’s nose on the inhale and agitated his navel cavity. Spock sneezed. Although Jim did not waken, he mumbled quietly and shifted. Spock followed his bondmate’s movements in the bed to remain within close proximity. The thought of this moment had kept Spock temperate during his arduous day at the embassy.  
  
And in four short weeks, the pleasure of Jim’s body pressed against his own, heavy with sleep, would be absent from Spock for six months. If only Jim could come along. Although Jim would argue the statistics, Spock had lost count how many missions they underwent during their years on the Enterprise that had gone unpredictably well despite the odds against them. Over the years, Spock grew increasingly convinced Jim was his own version of an auspicious talisman. Like the ‘lucky’ bottle of bourbon McCoy used to drink from when Jim proposed a scheme the doctor was not especially fond of. Or the piece of old Earth currency Uhura had insisted, with a wink, Spock borrow ‘for luck’ before the beginning of his bonding ceremony.  
  
Jim, however, was not a bottle of liquor Spock could fit into his luggage, nor a small item he could slip into a pocket. And luck was not an attribute Spock generally depended upon.  
  
Jim was no longer his Captain or Spock his first officer on a Starfleet starship, working and living together. Although the feel of Jim’s mind and the bond that connected them was a constant comfort, it did not make up for the feel of Jim’s back against Spock’s palm. The rise and fall of Jim’s shoulders with every breath. Spock ran a hand along Jim’s side, snaking an arm around his stomach. The relief of Jim wrapped in his arms, alive and healthy, and warm, and--  
  
“I could come with you—watch your back like old times?” Jim craned his head, his eyes half opened, filled with sleep.  
  
Spock pulled Jim closer, reveling in the heat of his body. When Jim cleared his throat, Spock released a modicum of pressure. “We have already discussed this. I must travel alone. Traveling with a human on Romulus would, as you know, ‘break my cover.’”  
  
Jim brushed his fingers against Spock’s wrist, trailing upwards. “I’ve passed for a Romulan before. I could do it again.”  
  
Spock huffed, the memory a doubtlessly humorous one. “Passing for a Romulan for a few hours is not the same as passing for one for six months. You are irrefutably human, Jim. The guise would not last long.”  
  
“Is that your way of saying I’m not very subtle?” Jim’s hand reached between them, moving in agonizing circles. Spock was becoming quite distracted. When Jim’s hips rolled to the right, Spock released his grip so Jim could turn to face him providing greater access to perform his task.  
  
Spock let out a slow breath, focusing on the gentle curve of Jim’s lips as he noticed the flush Spock felt rising in his cheeks. “That is my way of saying you would make a terrible Romulan. A fact I am grateful for, both for my own aesthetic preferences and for your own safety.” Unable to refrain any longer—indeed abstinence was a virtue Spock preferred to ignore whenever he found himself alone with Jim—Spock leaned forward to give an equal amount of attention to Jim’s mouth that Jim was applying on Spock’s lower body.  
  
Something wet hit Spock’s eyelid, and he blinking, pulling back from Jim in surprise. Disgruntled, Jim groaned, shifting forward to close the space between them again. Another drop smacked against Spock’s eyelashes, and he turned, breaking Jim’s urgent kiss.  
  
A drop fell on Spock’s check. Spock brushed a hand against the offending substance. He looked up—water. The roof appeared to be leaking.  
  
“You’re being coy today,” Jim grinned and moved to lay himself on top of Spock, stomach to stomach. “You trying to tell me something?” The new position lined their hips against one another, and Jim began using the situation to his full advantage.  
   
“Jim,” Spock groaned, blinking another drop of water from his eyes. It missed Jim’s head by several inches when he moved suddenly to apply his mouth against Spock’s neck. “There is a leak in the ceiling.” He turned his head to the right to avoid another uncomfortable splash of water against his cornea. The movement gave Jim further access to his throat, and Spock sucked in an unsteady breath as Jim’s tongue moved along the space between his neck and collarbone. Water began filling Spock’s ear and he shivered.  
  
“Jim. The ceiling.” Spock shifted underneath Jim, the friction causing more stimulation rather than separation.  
  
Jim mumbled something against Spock’s neck, more sound than words, and moved lower.  
  
“Jim.” His mouth was against Spock’s navel, breath tickling the hair along his stomach.  
  
“Jim!” Hands tangling against his own.  
  
When another drop of water fell into his left eye, Spock projected the sensation through his bond link. Jim finally ceased his attentions, necessary but unpleasant. “What the—" He glanced up at Spock from the bottom of the bed.  
  
“There is a leak in the ceiling.”  
  
“What?” Jim looked up just in time to watch a drop fall and splatter against Spock’s chest, followed by another one point three seconds later. “Shit.” Jim scrambled off of Spock and rose to stand on the bed. “Damn it, how did that get there?”  
  
“Evidently, an increase of rain fall combined with a faulty roof. Apparently, your work on the attic floor was not effective.” Spock sat up, leaning against the bedpost. If this disastrous house was going to prevent him from copulating with his mate, Spock was at least going to enjoy the view of Jim standing stark naked on the bed, his neck craned delectably, putting his jawline in profile.  
   
Jim looked down at Spock and grinned. “Well, looks like I have some more work to do.” Jumping off the bed, then grabbing his lower back after the sudden energetic motion assuredly set off the back troubles Spock had told him at least twenty three times to be cautious of, Jim grabbed his pants off the floor and set off, Spock feared, toward the atrocious ladder.  
  
Being naked on a bed without his bondmate seemed impractical, perhaps even pathetic. Spock rose and dressed.  
  
*  
  
For the past two weeks, Jim had been scaffolding, hammering, caulking, and plastering. This was not how Spock hoped to spend his remaining time with Jim before departing. With his own mission preparations, Spock had hardly seen his bondmate since the renovations began. When Spock was home, Jim was generally somewhere unreachable, such as the roof, or halfway up a ladder that would assuredly collapse under the added weight of a grown Vulcan.  
  
“Hey, I have a surprise,” Jim lilted as he walked into the kitchen. It was Spock’s haven. So far, everything in the room was working as it should, even the plumbing. The bathroom could not boast the same advantages. After the bathtub tap had spit out brown gunge, the bathroom became Jim’s new DIY obsession.  
  
“It would be more expedient to hire a professional,” Spock had insisted, a note of pleading in his voice.  
  
“No need, I can fix it,” Jim replied flippantly. Although Jim’s skills were abundant, this was the first time Spock heard plumbing added to the list.  
  
As the job removed Jim from the ladder for a time, Spock reluctantly let Jim have his way with the bathroom. Once his fun was over, they could pay a plumber to clean up the mess. Unfortunately, a project that began with pipes, soon escalated into a complete renovation.  
  
“You will injure your back,” Spock observed when he found Jim crouched under the bathroom sink two days ago. “Again.”  
  
“That ages ago. My back’s fine.”  
  
“At your age, strenuous activities will lead to permanent injury.”  
  
“Stop fussing,” Jim had muttered, the irritation evident in his tone and through their bond. Tempted to send a similar dose of emotion back, Spock refrained. Insisting Jim not do an activity often fueled Jim’s desire to do the unadvised action. Spock had left the bathroom silently and refused to return during the preceding days. Jim was far from a young man anymore. Seeing him in various positions that could cause injury, doing tasks they could easily hire a more limber professional to complete, only increased Spock’s anxiety.    
  
“If it involves another set of tiling color schemes, I assure you, I will not be surprised,” Spock replied, taking a sip of his tea.  
  
Jim laughed. “I went with the blue, and you were no help at all with the decision process, thank you very much.” Taking the cup from Spock’s hand, Jim placed it on the counter and led Spock out of the kitchen by the arm. “I fixed the tub and retiled the whole shower. So, now I need help with the test run.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. “If you indeed managed to repair the plumbing, I would assume you could handle the simple task of turning on a tap.”  
  
“Don’t be sassy.” Jim poked Spock in the ribs. “I’m making an excuse to get you wet and naked.”  
  
Spock’s lips twitched. “I see.” He moved a hand to Jim’s lower back. “I believe I can be of assistance, then.”  
  
The bathroom was still a disaster, tools and bits of tiling scattered everywhere, the sink half dismantled. Spock struggled to watch where they stepped as Jim began stripping off their clothes.  
  
Jim held a hand over Spock’s eyes. “Ignore everything else, the shower’s finished. Right now, nothing else matters.”  
  
Loathe to argue, Spock let Jim pull him into the newly refurbished shower. After his latest exertions on the roof, Jim had been too exhausted for much else than some disappointingly chaste kissing and fumbling before bed. And, worried about agitating Jim’s back, or the leg he saw Jim rubbing with a wince when he thought Spock’s gaze averted, Spock had abstained from initiating sexual intercourse.  
  
When Jim turned on the shower, Spock sent a silent prayer to Surak when the water ran clear. The tiling was also aesthetically pleasing, more so after Jim closed the shower door, blocking the disorder outside of it.  
  
Spock moved with Jim into the stream. Jim raised the temperature and the heat was a pleasant thrill along his skin. “Your plumbing skills are impressive, Jim.” He lifted his neck, the water running down his face.  
  
Jim grabbed the bar of soap, sliding it between his hands, building up lather. “I love it when you talk dirty,” he purred. He ran his soapy hands along Spock’s shoulders, down his arms.  
  
Spock ached to rub Jim in a similar fashion, but Jim refused to relinquish the soap, giving Spock a smirk as he began massaging Spock’s buttocks with the suds. Instead, Spock reached behind Jim for the shampoo. There were chalky bits of dust stuck in Jim’s hair that Spock was looking forward to cleaning out. When Spock played Jim’s hair, he always made delicious sounds that Spock found especially stimulating.  
  
Spock shivered. The shower head had tipped forward, displacing the watery heat. Jim’s hands were occupied, so Spock reached up to adjust it. It would not remain erect.  
  
Jim squinted upward. “Oh yeah, I was having trouble with that thing. I’ll fix it later.” He stepped back. The water covered Jim, but was too low to reach Spock. Another shiver ran up his spine. “We’ll just have to adjust.” Turning them around, Jim pushed Spock against the wall. The hot water and Jim’s lips soon warmed Spock’s chilled skin.  
  
“Ow!” Jim jumped back, his feet sliding on the slippery shower floor with the sudden movement. Spock grabbed and pulled Jim toward him before his mate’s back could hit any hard surfaces.  
  
Jim rubbed his head and looked up. Spock kept a tight grip on Jim’s arms, inspecting him for injury. “Looks like the tiles could use some more caulking,” Jim said. Glancing up, Spock noticed a rough patch where a tile had come loose and evidently fallen on Jim.  
  
Spock touched the back of Jim’s head and he winced. “We should leave the shower for another time, Jim, in case anything else decides to fall on your cranium.” Spock opened the shower door. It swerved open then collapsed, sending up white dust from the unfished floor.  
  
Jim glanced at Spock and laughed nervously. “Still needs some work.”  
  
“Obviously,” Spock replied, stepping gingerly out of the shower. He held a hand out for Jim to use as support, but Jim ignored it. “Jim. Please. We can hire a renovator to finish the bathroom and the rest of the house. Exhausting yourself is unnecessary.”  
  
Jim huffed, grabbing a towel he must have left on a chair before bringing Spock in. He shook it of dust then tossed it at Spock’s chest. “I’ll get it done. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”  
  
Spock held in a breath as he watched Jim walk out of the bathroom without a glance to see where his feet landed among the dangerous chaos covering the floor.  
  
*  
  
The metaphorical last straw occurred when Spock found Jim fiddling with the wiring behind a damaged electrical outlet.  
  
“Jim. No.”  
  
“Spock. Yes.” Jim’s gaze remained focused on the wires. “This is basic stuff compared to the introductory engineering class I took at the academy.”  
  
“A class you took forty two years ago,” Spock replied.  
  
“What’d I say about you being distracting?” Unlike their previous discussion of this topic, the humor had left Jim’s tone. Irritation had thrummed through Jim’s side of their bond ever since the shower incident. The unease between them was upsetting; only five days remained before Spock’s departure date. However, worry was in Spock’s foreseeable future if Jim’s hazardous renovations continued.  
  
 Spock squeezed his hands behind his back. “Please, be careful.”  
  
“Of course I will. Not made of glass.” Jim maneuvered a wire between a pair of pliers. Thinking about the amount of voltage surging through the house’s electrical system and the proximity of Jim to such energy sent a jolt of fear through Spock. He turned away, leaving the room.  
  
After Jim injured his back seven months ago during a regular exercise routine, an activity practiced for years, dread begun building in Spock. And with increasing frequency since Jim’s work on the house began, as if Spock was suffering from foresight. Therefore, he was hardly surprised when he heard a yelp come from the living room three point six hours later.  
  
Spock rushed into the room. “Jim? Are you all right?”  
  
Jim was still beside the outlet, gripping his right hand with his left. “I’ll live. Just got a shock,” he laughed with a breathy carelessness that raised Spock’s suspicions.  
  
Kneeling beside Jim, Spock examined his bondmate’s injured hand, cradling his palm. “Electrical charges can cause internal damage. You must see a doctor.”  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jim tugged at his hand. “I’m fine.”  
  
“That,” Spock replied, “is what you said every time you returned bloodied after an away mission.” Spock pulled out his communicator. “I’m calling Doctor McCoy.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Jim argued, reaching for the communicator with his uninjured hand. Spock pulled away and stood. “He’s in Georgia anyway, visiting family.”  
  
“Negative. He returned last week.”  
  
Jim groaned. “If this won’t be the death of me,” he muttered holding up the electrocuted hand. “You will.”  
  
Spock froze. The jibe, although made under trying circumstances, was upsetting. He continued into the kitchen to make the call.  
  
*  
  
“He’s fine, Spock.” McCoy grumbled, closing the bedroom door behind him, medical kit in hand. “Though why the mad fool was playing with electrical wires in the first place beats me.”  
  
“Are you sure? Did you check his heart for damage?” Spock asked, crossing his hands in front of him. His agitation was beginning to show as his fingers twitched idly.  
  
“I’ve checked everything, just like you asked. Jim was none too pleased.” McCoy gave Spock a hard stare, a look he had become accustomed to over the years. “Are you okay?”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”  
  
McCoy crowded up in front of Spock, the swiftness of his feet unhindered by his age. It was a test of endurance to not step back. “Really?” McCoy’s right eye widened. “‘Cause Jim tells me you’ve been fussing around him like a mother hen.”  
  
“I only wish to keep Jim safe. A task I know you are familiar with, doctor.” Spock took the inevitable step back to ease the intensity of McCoy’s discerning glare.  
  
“This is ‘cause you’re leaving on that crazy Romulan mission, isn’t it?” McCoy nodded wisely. “Separation anxiety.”  
  
“The anxiety you speak of is caused by Jim’s disregard for his own safety.” Spock frowned.  
  
“Exactly.” McCoy shook a finger at Spock’s chest. “You won’t be around anymore to guard his every move.”  
  
Spock opened his mouth to argue then reconsidered. “No. I will not.”  
  
“You two.” McCoy shook his head with a smile. “Look, calling me over a little jolt is taking it too far. And you know it’s bad when you hear me complaining about medical diligence.” McCoy paused to focus his gaze. “You still fretting over what happened to his back?”  
  
“When Jim is concerned, I prefer to be thorough, however far that takes me.” Spock moved his hands behind his back.  
  
“He’s old but he’s not that old, Spock. I know you Vulcans age slower, but small injuries like the knock Jim took to his back happen at this age. What, you gonna keep him horizontal for the rest of his life?”  
  
Spock lifted his eyebrow higher and McCoy cringed.  
  
“Dammit—never mind. Don’t answer that.” McCoy moved into the entrance way, grabbing his coat. “Take it from a medical professional. Jim can take care of himself for six months. He isn’t an invalid, yet. But he’ll be bat shit crazy soon enough if you keep mollycoddling him. You know how much he hates reminders of how mortal he is.”  
  
*  
  
“What’s got into you? You’re driving me crazy!” Jim tossed the covers from the bed and rose when Spock entered the bedroom after McCoy’s visit. Spock resisted an urge to push Jim back down on the bed. “I injure myself once and suddenly you think I’m at death’s door. You see danger everywhere.” Jim shook his fingers in Spock’s direction and frowned.  
  
“Jim.” Spock breathed in. “You are my bondmate. I cannot help but feel apprehension when you insist in partaking in unnecessary and perilous activities.”  
  
“Perilous!” Jim laughed shortly and swiped a hand through his hair. “You’re one to talk. I’m only doing some home reno. You’re the one heading to a hostile planet in a few days.”  
  
Spock opened his mouth and closed it again. Disquiet suddenly flowed from Jim’s end of the bond. “Precautions have been made. I will be safe,” Spock whispered, tension guarding his voice.  
  
“Easy for you to say.” Jim shook his head. “I’m the one waiting behind. We won’t be in the thick of it together this time.”  
  
Spock felt the blood drain from his face. “I was unaware of your concern.”  
  
“I was blocking it.” Jim tapped his temple. “What you’re doing, it’s hard enough. I didn’t want to burden you with my worries as well.”  
  
Spock lowered his head, closing his eyes. “There was no need to block from me. Your feelings are never a burden.”  
  
“Really? Then what about my infirm aging body?” Jim’s lips quirked though the creases around his eyes remained still. “Every time I climb a ladder or touch something sharp you look like you’re gonna have an aneurism.”  
  
Spock stared. “Your body could never be a burden to me, Jim.”  
  
Jim paused, watching Spock warily. “I’m not dropping dead any time soon. Sure, I’m getting old, but you can’t stop it.” He moved closer, taking Spock’s hand. “And you can’t stop me from climbing ladders. Not while my legs are still working.”  
  
Spock sighed. “But, Jim—”  
  
Jim frowned. “Let it go, Spock.”  
  
“I would prefer if you did not climb ladders,” Spock stated.  
  
“Yeah well, I’d rather keep you locked up in this house than let you run off to Romulus and get who knows what hacked off,” Jim blurted. “But I won’t stop you.” He raised his eyes to Spock’s. “Because I know it’s important to you.”  
  
Spock’s stomach felt like it was sinking and floating at the same time. “I see.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim murmured. There was a gentle tug of fondness from the bond, an emotion that Spock reciprocated tenfold without thought.  
  
“I have been,” Spock paused. “overly cautious. And perhaps,” another pause, “slightly exasperating. I apologize.”  
  
Jim snorted. “Maybe it’s a good think you’ll be out of my hair until I get the house fixed up.” Although there was truth to Jim’s words, the emotions Spock felt through their link contradicted them.  
  
“I do not want to leave you,” he replied, stepping toward Jim and enfolding him in a slow, fierce embrace. Although uneasy about such abundant displays of emotion earlier in their courtship, Spock had long abandoned any illogical embarrassment that once accompanying his participation in human hugs. An act that now infused their bond with joy whenever performed.  
   
“I know, Spock.” Jim returned the hug, the strength in his arms dampening the fearful burn that had pervaded Spock ever since Jim’s injury, but not completely eliminating it. “I know.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
“Told you so.”  
  
Spock felt his lips pull in response to Jim’s grin. It was impossible to maintain Vulcan stoicism when one’s bondmate continually filled their link with surging amusement.  
  
“Indeed.” Spock followed Jim through the front door, which had been replaced and closed without sticking. After meeting Jim at the airport, Spock had willingly endured Jim’s gratuitous displays of affection in public for two point six minutes. Spock’s own demonstrations would remain within their mental link until they returned home. Anyway, Jim “could not wait” to show Spock their newly refurbished house. Spock only hoped his sexual advances would not be impeded by leaky ceilings or unfinished bathrooms.  
  
“I’ll give you the new grand tour.” Jim took Spock by the arm leading him through each room, pointing out the specific alterations and replacements. If not for their address displayed on the door, Spock would believe he had entered another home.  
  
“I am,” Spock lifted his head toward the ceiling, inspecting for errant leaks, “impressed.”  
  
“And look who’s still standing.” Jim waved a hand down his body. Spock followed its trail. Memories and the small photo he kept of Jim when traveling were nothing compared to observing the real man standing two feet away. Spock intended to keep his eyes firmly directed at Jim for at least the next forty eight hours, as long as his mental capacity could endure wakefulness.  
  
“Indeed,” Spock answered.  
  
“That’s all you have to say?” Jim asked, resting his hands on his hips.  
  
“I was wrong to underestimate your abilities despite your more advanced age.” Spock tilted his head forward briefly in acquiescence.  
  
“Advanced!” Jim shook his head furiously. “No. You can’t call it that until I’m a hundred.”  
  
It was both a comfort and a discomfort to imagine Jim at the age of one hundred. Such a number would mean Jim had managed to remain fatally unharmed for another forty years. A feat Spock believed impossible when he began his post as first officer on the Enterprise under Jim’s command. The discomforting thoughts of Jim at one hundred he pushed to the rear of his mind. Similar thoughts had already caused him to fret inanely over Jim.  
  
“Very well,” Spock considered. “Will middling age do?”  
  
Jim grunted. “Good enough.”  
  
“Jim.” Spock moved his grip from Jim’s arm and laced their fingers together. This fit, Jim’s broad fingers warm between his own, had haunted Spock’s dreams for the past six months. He rarely dreamed unless parted from Jim, a strange occurrence that began shortly after their bonding.  
  
“Spock?” Jim squeezed his hand, a thumb trailing rough patterns into Spock’s palm.  
  
“The shower still remains untested to its fullest capacity.”  
  
Jim’s eyes widened his grin expanding. “Indeed.”  
  
Spock moved toward the bathroom with more haste than usual seeing as he had showered on the shuttle that morning and his cleanliness was not in a dire state. Jim followed at a matching pace. “We must remedy this,” Spock murmured, his mind already wandering to six month old recollections of his hands against Jim’s flesh.  
  
“Indeed,” Jim smiled back, closing the bathroom door behind them. Its freshly oiled hinges swung closed without a sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com/) for spirk spam and fangirling.


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